


We Were Not Meant for Heaven's Light

by Heart_Seoul_Soshi



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 22:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18903628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heart_Seoul_Soshi/pseuds/Heart_Seoul_Soshi
Summary: A villain below speaks with Heaven aboveOn the subject of God's all-encompassing loveShe does it in vain, fraught with pain and her tearsFor the cries of a villain always fall on deaf ears.





	We Were Not Meant for Heaven's Light

**Author's Note:**

> This was a request from way back when I still had a tumblr that I've finally gotten around to after rewatching The Hunchback of Notre Dame for the first time in like 16 years.

_**[[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2KOq2YKP2Fg) ** _

 

* * *

Carlos taught her to run. Jay taught her to climb. And Mal taught her to hide. But nothing could ever teach her how to escape pain, pain that seared like fire in Evie's leg as a slick and dark red stained the torn blue of her leggings. Pain, she could not escape, yet she had no choice but to keep going—the glinting swords at her back insisted that she do so.  
  
For villains who made a living off of thievery, pirates sure were opposed to being subjected to it themselves, and the guttural screams and curses of a raging bunch of them chased Evie down the alleyway just like the stomp and thud of their heavy boots. Dropping the jewels was simply not an option; the pirates had already offered her that chance, and her refusal earned her the blood splashed along her leg that turned her frantic run into a desperate limp. She needed those jewels, they  _all_  needed those jewels, for jewels could be traded for a pretty penny, and a coin was worth millions to a quartet of villain kids who were growing so weak with hunger that stealing their lunch and dinner was no longer something they had the strength to do.  
  
It was the three of them that kept Evie running through the burning pain, hopping and hobbling where she needed to and beating those aching legs to keep one jump ahead of the swords and cutlasses ready to slice off a hand in return for her treachery. Mal, Carlos, and Jay, probably fast asleep right about now to save what little energy they had left in the hideout they all called home since being kicked out or otherwise abandoned by their villainous parents. So Evie ran, but she knew she couldn't keep running like  _this_  forever. The shortest distance between herself and a messy end was a straight line, and in her battered state the sea urchins would surely either catch or corner her at any moment now. It was time to put Jay's lessons to work.  
  
She stuffed the glittering gems into her jacket pocket and timed it just right, her leap onto a closed-up dumpster with a push of her good leg off the ground. She braced herself for only a moment and then began her climb, the jutting and uneven bricks of the building beside her making excellent handholds. Evie was light and lithe, scrambling her way a fair distance up the building before the pirates beneath her could clench their swords between their yellowed teeth and start the climb up after her. None of it did her poor leg any good, the shredded skin around her wound now met with an odd tingling sensation that had to have been a bad sign.  
  
Her intense focus on reaching the rooftop was what powered her through, not daring to look down and not daring to let the blazing flames of pain stop her in her tracks. No, she didn't look down to keep track of what was happening underneath her, but the metallic thud and bang of a wharf rat losing his grip and crashing down onto the dumpster below was an encouraging sound. It felt like eons, but finally she hoisted herself up and over onto the roof, rolling on her back and allowing one precious split-second to lay there and catch her breath. The burning in her leg was now spreading to her lungs, lighting them on fire and evaporating her air. She ran. She climbed. She'd put Carlos's lessons to good use and then Jay's. Now, it was time for Mal's.  
  
She had to hide.   
  
Mal had always made it very clear to Evie that her favorite lesson to teach was how to fight. Yet even Mal, with the reddened scrapes on her knuckles and the cuts constantly splitting her full lips, knew deep down that her  _true_  lesson was that of how to hide, to disappear unseen into the island's many shadows. Fighting saved your pride. Hiding saved your life. So Evie was up again, her weak leg dragging lamely behind her as she hurried to cross the rooftop. Her pursuers were right on her tail, a handful of them reaching the top of the building as well while the rest still struggled on the climb. They growled at Evie to stop, growled violent threats at her across the stale island air, but Evie would not stop.  
  
In a burst of courage, more courage than she knew she had, she leapt from the other end of the roof and caught a clothesline on her way down, her weight just enough to yank one end loose and send her swinging back down to the ground. The mistake of landing on her injured leg was one she made but couldn't afford, and the ever-present flames of pain suddenly turned into lightning bolts as her leg gave out and sent her tumbling along the cracked asphalt, scraping and scratching her face in ways that mother would've killed her for if mother still gave her a single thought. The pirates were surprisingly organized, the ones still up on the rooftop barking orders to ones hidden below to round on Evie and take her where she lay.  
  
The whistle of steel was too close for comfort as she rolled just in time to avoid having her head split in two, ducking underneath a pirate's legs and breaking back into a weakened run. The scream of  _"After her!!"_  rang in her ears as she navigated the twists and turns of The Isle, no longer confined to the straightaway of an alley. Life with her vain and superficial mother once made her rather soft for a villain kid, but a new life with her fellow VKs made her ready and willing to do whatever was needed to save her own skin. The hapless denizens that crossed her path were shoved this way and that, used as human speed bumps and obstacles to send crashing into her attackers and hopefully slow them down.  
  
It bought her time, but only barely, and what was true back in the dingy alleyway was still true here—Evie couldn't run forever. She needed a real place to hide, something more than just a crowded street or overflowing marketplace. Her sole advantage was knowing The Isle better than the pirates, who kept to the docks and the coves, rarely even venturing from their ships. She could evade, but only for so long. Evie knew shortcuts, longcuts, even loop-arounds that had her doubling back and chasing  _them_  for a moment or so, but her lungs were being pierced with the same bolts of lightning striking her leg, the flames that were hurting her now morphing into something much more sinister.  
  
She'd lost track of them for a minute, a fact that was much more frightening than it was a relief, but lucky her, the herd of rampaging ruffians soon caught up. Swords were brandished like a monstrous row of teeth, closing in on Evie in a deadly and gaping maw.  
  
_Hide!!_  her mind screamed, throat too raw to scream for her.   
  
But they were  _right there,_  mere feet behind her. Where in the world was she to hide??  
  
There was no beaming sunlight on the Isle of the Lost, only the ugly gray light that filtered through the perpetual cover of clouds, but still Evie caught sight of it glittering like a beacon as if painted with every last one of the sun's warm rays.  
  
That's where she was to hide. A place the pirates, or any other villain on The Isle, would never follow. A place she herself wouldn't dare set foot in if she weren't so desperate and out of options, if thoughts of torture or something far worse at the hands of the pirates weren't breathing hotly down her neck.  
  
The chapel was something new, a brand new torment put on The Isle by the kingdom of Auradon like a magic barrier and squalid poverty weren't punishment enough for the villains. Now a looming symbol of goodness and purity tainted their lands, stood as a constant and physical reminder of the divide between good and evil, how Auradon viewed the people of The Isle not as people, but as things to be fixed, fixed by the pious virtue of the kingdom or otherwise condemned by it. Bringing the villains back from the dead those twenty years ago was a low enough blow, the rulers of Auradon believing that death was too easy an out and that evil still needed to suffer for its crimes. Funny how a land so clearly bent on eternal damnation could build a place like this on The Isle and spout driveling nonsense about saving the villains' souls.  
  
No, not a single one of them would set foot within that chapel, not out of fear, but bitter and wicked resentment. Villains were beings of pride, and would not pander to the self-righteous wishes of the two-faced kingdom that cast them off to an island prison before turning around and pretending to care about their poor, unfortunate souls. But Evie, Evie saw that golden cross glittering high on its tower spire and knew that while it might not save her soul, it would certainly save her life.  
  
She heard the clomping feet skidding to a stop far behind her as she took the steps two at a time, the doors of the chapel so close and using the last of her energy to ignore the lightning zapping her all over. Evie steadied herself with a hand on the heavy wood, smooth and finished and unlike any of the splintered and rotted wooden doors she was accustomed to on The Isle. Her breaths were gasping and excruciating to take, heaving her whole body as she fought to catch them.   
  
Here she stopped, and the pirates would come no closer. The venom was painted across their twisted faces, and in their eyes Evie watched them silently debate a clear intention to simply stand there and wait, knowing that if Evie couldn't run forever, she couldn't hide forever either. If she ducked inside that chapel she would have to come out eventually, and Evie's chest made the switch from sweltering heat to crippling ice as she thought about being cornered like a rat in such a terrible Auradon construct while the mangy alleycats lounged just outside the doors with sharpened fangs and hungry bellies.  
  
Yet hungry bellies seemed too hungry to wait, and with rude gestures sent Evie's way and foul words uttered that a princess should never have to hear, the pirates lowered their swords and turned on their scuffed-up heels, shuffling and stomping away. Evie waited and watched until the threats were nothing more than blurry dots in the distance, before pulling open the enormous door with both hands curled tight around the gilded handle and slipping inside the chapel.  
  
Right away she sunk down to the cool marble of the floor, her back against the polished wood of the door and her eyes falling shut in her first real moment of safety. She could see the stars even against the blackness of her closed eyelids, the shimmering spots of brightness that naturally came with the kind of strained exertion she'd just put herself through. Strained exertion could not and would not let her rest for long, however, and soon enough Evie's eyes were opening again, half-lidded and exhausted and seeing the world through a bleary haze.  
  
First, she tore at her shirt, glad the material was thin enough and her lingering strength was strong enough to rip free a long piece of fabric to tie tight around her leg. Scuttling around a place like the Isle of the Lost with such a cut was almost sure to mean it was already infected in some way or another, but still, the bandage made Evie feel better. Peace of mind. Something she couldn't afford to pass up.   
  
A shaking hand reached into her pocket and pulled out the jewels, counting all of them nestled in her palm and hoping none had slipped away in her mad dash for freedom. All were present and accounted for. Her lucky day. Sapphires, amethysts, rubies; they were small, and there weren't many of them, but any greedy and beady-eyed merchant on the street would still pay to take them off Evie's hands. Villains were a breed that valued appearances, after all, and a palmful of shining gems looked far, far better than a pile of rusted coins. Yet those rusted coins meant the world to Evie right now, those rusted coins could pay for stale bread and mushy fruit and get her friends back on their feet again.  
  
As she sat there, Evie's own stomach growled something fierce with the yawning emptiness of hunger, but Jay and Carlos hadn't had a single bite to eat in three days. Mal, in four days. The three of them were plagued with shaking hands and shivering bodies, and if any one of them had attempted such a daring robbery today in Evie's place with their terribly waning strength, they would surely be dead by now.  
  
Such was the life of a villain kid on The Isle of the Lost, after all.  
  
Evie's hand shook too as she fitted the jewels back into her pocket, but not out of hunger. She pressed a palm to her cheek, where the scratches against her smooth skin had already stopped bleeding, leaving angry raised ridges in their wake. Such was the life of Evie.  
  
It didn't used to be. Once upon a time she was a princess in a big castle, groomed day in and day out to marry a handsome and charming prince, to bring fame and riches to herself and her mother. Until mother finally realized the princes were all across the sea, there was no escape from The Isle, and keeping Evie around was just a waste of time and space. But she'd found Mal. She'd found Jay and Carlos. She'd found a new home that needed her, and more importantly,  _wanted_  her, and right now that home was in need of her help.  
  
Evie's leg was falling asleep, not because of her tight bandage, but the way she'd awkwardly slumped to the floor. So she shifted herself a bit, those sleepy eyes of hers becoming a little more awake and alert with her movements. If she was to rest here for a while before making her way back into town, she figured she at least might take a look at it. High ceilings, curved and arched, a long carpet of blue cutting a path down the marble and dividing the rows of wooden pews. Evie hated to admit it, but it was...actually rather pretty. Most likely because of its newness, the way the interior was clean and crisp and unlike anything she'd ever known growing up on The Isle, but pretty nonetheless. Her eyes were drawn up to the stained glass windows, a medley of colors and patterns that she wished Mal were here to see. Mal was an artist, after all, and even secretly admired the stained glass windows of their own back at the VKs' hideout with her eye for color and detail.  
  
She could picture Mal here with a sketchbook, spending hours painstakingly recreating the interior with pencil and paper. She could picture Carlos fast asleep on one of the pews, arm draped over his eyes and one leg dangling down to the marble floor. She could even picture Jay, scaling the walls with his jovial laughter and swinging from the light fixtures like the mischievous monkey he sometimes was. Evie could picture it all, as if this place could become a new hideout for all of them, a place where they could be truly safe from the horrors of The Isle that lurked just outside the doors.  
  
It took one try, then a second, then a third before Evie could get to her feet, her bad leg reflexively bending back as she stood to keep the weight off of itself. Evie didn't know how long it would take to shake this limp, but if she couldn't shake it she'd just have to force her way through it—the last thing she needed when she started to make her way back to the depths of The Isle was a sign of physical weakness. She should've saved her strength, just sat there against the door and rested awhile, but alas, this damnable place had her curious, and she just had to take a look around.   
  
She ran a hand along the backs of the pews while using them to support herself, the varnish shiny and glasslike under her touch. The holier-than-thou cretins of Auradon built the chapel with every intention of putting it to good use, of gathering up the villains for church services and teaching them right from wrong, teaching them atonement. Yet short of dragging them in by their ears, it soon became clear that the villains of The Isle would have no part of Auradon's religious brainwashing, and the little chapel that could was quickly abandoned, up-kept and attended to once a month by a quivering priest from Auradon who came to The Isle with an entire armed guard.  
  
This was a humble little structure, nothing at all like the opulent churches and cathedrals Evie had read about in history books, or seen hosting royal events on what little tv signal they could get on The Isle. The daughter of the Evil Queen should never admit to having tender heartstrings, but something about the building's abandonment resonated deep within her. She knew the feeling, after all. Even though it was a product of Auradon's misguided folly, this place was built with great hopes, grand expectations, only to be left behind and forgotten before even given a chance. Just like Evie. Just like Mal. Just like Carlos and Jay and so many others on the island who were victims of circumstance more so than anything else, victims of things far beyond their earthly control.  
  
The villains hadn't known love. They hadn't known family. Only a very select few of them had the privilege of knowing friendship. Some of them were truly evil of their own accord and deserving of no sympathy, but some of them were like Mal, Mal who held Evie's hand that very first night the Evil Queen had disowned her and softly promised through all of Evie's tears that she was going to be okay. Some villains were like Carlos, who smiled a smile that could clear away troubles on the spot like rays of light burning through wretched storm clouds. And some villains were like Jay, who was both brick wall and teddy bear depending on which the situation called for, who could punch a foe out cold and turn around to wrap a safe and encouraging arm around your shoulder all in one move.  
  
Yes, some of them there on The Isle deserved no sympathy, but many of them deserved so much more than this desolate prisoner's life.  
  
Evie's walk took her all the way up to the altar, face to face with an exquisitely carved bust of white marble staring back vacantly at her. For all its superior craftsmanship it lacked any real detail; Evie couldn't tell if the stone face before her was man or woman, young or old. Nondescript, vague, almost featureless in a way, but still, Evie knew exactly who this was supposed to be.  
  
She knew of gods. She knew them by names like Hades and Zeus and Hercules, and all the mighty personalities they came with. But what they had in Auradon was a far cry from the realm of Mount Olympus, what they had was something faceless and mysterious, not gods, but  _a_  god. Singular. An all-powerful deity given no other name than that of its breed, hailed as the embodiment of Auradon's goodness and light, a deity supposedly in possession of a heart big enough for all and love enough to make the world go around.  
  
Evie and The Isle must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, for never were they ever within reach of that all-encompassing love and compassion. From what she heard, this god was supposed to be there for you in your darkest hours, whenever you cried out for help. Evie had plenty of dark hours to her name, and not once were her cries heard by anything but the walls. No wonder the kingdom couldn't make the villains believe, for what had they ever been given to believe in?  
  
They were outcasts, vagrants, the dregs of society, and when Auradon told them their god loved all they clearly only meant the worthy and worthwhile.   
  
Evie could've died today trying to keep her friends alive. She could've met the sharpened end of a sword, or broken her neck in one poorly-timed leap of escape, all for the chance to buy a measly loaf of rock-hard bread. Didn't that make her worthy? Worthwhile? It seemed pretty selfless and noble to her, but then again, the people across the sea always seemed to have a very different definition of noble.  
  
Noble to them was slaying her kind, fighting the dragons and killing the sea witches, watching the boorish hunters and cackling hags plunge to their deaths off a castle turret or a rocky cliff. In reality the heroes of Auradon did not build this chapel here for the villains, but for themselves, a standing reminder that  _they_  were good, that  _they_  were virtuous and always would be.  
  
Evie imagined that God was supposed to see it differently.  
  
God was supposed to see them trapped there in that prison, fighting for their lives everyday and being ruthless and cruel only because it was what they needed to survive. God was supposed to help them. To see their inner light.  
  
Oh, if only  _someone_  out there could see their inner light.  
  
_"...I don't know if you can hear me, or if you're even there,"_  Evie started to sing, her beautiful voice hushed in the somber silence of the chapel.  
  
She brushed the back of her hand along the marble cheek of that nameless god on the altar before her, the stone cold and hard under her skin.  
  
_"I don't know if you would listen to a villain's prayer..."_  she sighed heavily, shakily, letting her hand drop lamely back to her side.  _"Yes, I know I'm just an outcast, I shouldn't speak to you..."  
_  
The stained glass high above her head would've been a far more beautiful sight, if only the Isle of the Lost had sunshine there to shine through it.  
  
_"Still, I see your face and wonder...were you once an outcast too?"_  
  
Across the sea they were born to wealth, if not to wealth then at least to privilege. The life of an outcast was something they could never understand, not with their warm beds and safe homes, their loving families and bright futures. Evie turned herself away from the statue of God, either unwilling to look at it or perhaps to have it look at her. Delicately was how she put the weight on her stinging leg, hobbling weakly and slowly back down the long length of blue carpet.  
  
_"God help the outcasts, hungry from birth. Show them the mercy they don't find on earth,"_ her voice grew louder with emotion, with thoughts of all the suffering boiling to life just beyond the walls of the little chapel.  
  
Children in the dirty streets, mere babies of five and six pickpocketing to survive the day and beaten black and blue when caught by larger hands and unstable tempers. Evie always passed by too many of them to count, wishing with all her heart she had something to give yet not even having anything to her own poor name.  
  
_"God help my people, we look to you still,"_  she balanced herself on a pew to glance back over her shoulder, where that almost faceless bust on the altar continued to stare with blank, unblinking eyes.  _"...God help the outcasts, or nobody will."_  
  
The people of Auradon did not pray for The Isle. They built a tiny chapel and spouted sermons for a few miserable weeks before deciding it was a lost cause and telling themselves they'd done their part. Patting themselves on the back was how they left The Isle behind, convinced that with one small act of what they were sure was righteousness, the Isle of the Lost was left a better place.  
  
Never mind feeding The Isle. Never mind putting roofs over the heads of its children. Never mind true help, their own hands were tied, and the kingdom couldn't waste a precious prayer to God for them. Perhaps they were scarce in Auradon the way food was scarce on The Isle, for when it came down to it the wealthy asked for more wealth, the famous asked for more fame. They asked to be gifted love instead of going out and earning it, instead of asking for the children of The Isle to be gifted the love of their mothers and fathers.  
  
Perhaps a prayer was simply one to a customer, and if this was to be Evie's, with a whole realm of possibilities laid out before her, she knew deep down that she wasn't going to waste it.  
  
_"I ask for nothing, I can get by,"_  Evie lowered herself carefully onto the pew, unable to stand any longer.  _"...But I know so many less lucky than I. Please help my people, the poor and downtrod..."_  
  
Evie felt a chill come over her, and wrapped her arms tight around herself with a shiver.  
  
_"I thought we all were...the children of God."_  
  
If that was what Evie was told to believe, then yet again Auradon had led her and everyone else astray. The people there preached of love for everyone, goodness and acceptance, second chances—for crying out loud, their king was once a cruel and heartless beast! ...But apparently, magic was not the only thing that the unbreakable barrier above kept from The Isle.  
  
_"God help the outcasts...children of God..."_  
  
The last breathtaking note of Evie's angelic voice reverberated all through the chapel, echoing around the high ceiling and soothing her own ears. Far ahead of her, on the other side of the room, the bust of God still stared. Unmoving, unwavering, giving no sign that her lament was heard by anything or anyone but herself.  
  
She shouldn't have cried. She knew that she shouldn't. But the blazing heat that had touched Evie's leg and then her breathless lungs was now burning behind her eyes, welling up out of nowhere like poison bubbling inside a cauldron.  
  
She shouldn't have cried. If only someone was there to listen to her, then maybe she wouldn't have. If only God saw fit to tell her that everything would be alright someday, she could wipe her eyes and hold her head up and stagger her way out of the chapel to trade in her stolen jewels for something far more valuable.  
  
For the life of her friends. For the promise that the four of them would make it through another night, that hunger and despair wouldn't sicken them in the dark and waste them away to nothing with each passing hour. She knew that the people of Auradon asked for signs, some small acknowledgment that if their prayers hadn't been answered, they had at least been heard. Evie didn't bother asking for a sign. With the sudden tears burning a path down her cheeks and strangling her by the throat, she couldn't have asked even if she wanted to.  
  
She was not a child of God. None of them were. Everyone around her was nothing more than a child of The Isle.   
  
An outcast.  
  
And that, that was an inescapable pain that ached more than any cut up leg, more than any poor set of lungs gasping desperately for air, more than any river of tears.  
  
More than any sobbing cry filling the air of an empty, abandoned chapel.  
  
The cries of one despairing outcast, hopelessly trapped on a crumbling island with the rest of the lost silently crying around her.

 


End file.
